Ellette
by Devil Hunter Yohko
Summary: A gawky girl resorts to books instead of marriage until she is forced to go to the prince's ball. yet another cinderella rewrite, except with a live mother.


My mother insisted that I wouldn't always be gawky. I'd shake my head and put my enormous hands on my head. She also said I'd grow into my hands. If I did that then I'd be a giant when my hands fit my body. My mother, Elaine, was graceful and elegant, yet she said she looked like me when she was my age. Philip, my father, would have never married her if what she said is true. He only valued beauty. That was before everything. That was before my father took a mistress. She hated me and my mother. Mother was older; she wasn't as beautiful anymore or as young. Around the manor she'd flaunt that she took my mother's place in bed. Putting everything behind me seemed logical; I studied language and logic, dancing and drama, manners and music, history and heretics, reading and riding. All so one day I might become a proper lady in court. I wanted to forget my father and leave his manor.  
  
I remember the day the King's messenger arrived. The prince's birthday! The gold ink brush was poised above my manuscript, gilding a faerie in the border. I didn't need to see the messenger to know what he said. The prince needed a bride, and a ball to find one. The Mistress, as I took to calling her, took my dresses, telling me I was too ugly to go to the ball anyway. My parents were not there to stop her, and I didn't feel like getting into an argument then.  
  
Yards of silk and satin and velvet were ordered. The Mistress would have the most splendid dress. Every man's eye would fall on her, but she'd only look at the prince. It would be a most splendid night, full of romance and candlelight. Or at least, that is what The Mistress said would happen. I didn't believe her, why should I?  
  
For the months following the announcement I avoided mirrors, I thought they only revealed my abnormalities. My extra parchment, though, was covered in drawings of the perfect ball dress, on a beautiful girl. A girl the prince would marry; a girl would laugh sweetly at his pathetic jokes and look pretty. I was usually only argumentative.  
  
The day of the ball was clear, sunny, and crisp. Mother told me not to study so hard that day. I'd shake my head, and continue my translation. My thoughts would ever wander from my work. A doodle of the prince appeared on one parchment leaf, followed by a golden haired girl with lily cheeks and ruby lips. I wasn't that girl, I had copper hair. On my parchment, they danced beautifully into the night, falling ever in love. Finally, the cook yelled for me. I'd eat in the kitchen that day; The Mistress had to dress into her magnificent gown.  
  
Simple cheese and bread for dinner, I felt like the cook was punishing me. My mother came into the kitchen too.  
  
She spoke, "I noticed your translations and drawings. You should go to the ball too. I went to the dressmaker, and gave her the design of yours I thought would look best on you, not your blonde princess." A tub of warm water was brought out, with lily bath salts and The Mistress's soaps. Oddly, I didn't want to marry the prince when I was bustled around in towels and creams. My mother's friend came, and applied power to my face so I was pale, ruby paint to my lips, and blush to my cheeks. Necklaces draped about my neck and bracelets around my wrists. I felt like a princess. Finally, after too many petticoats and many more undergarments, my mother took out my dress. It was just like my drawing, deep sapphire, with a tight bodice and lace trim, short enough to show the very bottom of the top lacy petticoat.  
  
"I guess you'll have to ride, the carriage was taken by, well, you know," the cook commented. She knew I rode a lot anyway, it wasn't a problem. Riding with so many petticoats was difficult but not impossible.  
  
I got to the castle in one piece, looking much like I did before I rode. True, I was late, but I could go in some back entrance and slip into the knot of ladies. Sadly, the doormen noticed me before I noticed them. Holding the door open, they bowed as I passed. I was a princess, tiara included. The front hall was lined in mirrors; I could not help notice my ugly body. But I wasn't ugly, I stood tall, my gloved hands covered in the long lace cuffs. As pretty as any lady on the dance floor below me. They turned their heads to me, I ignored them. My gaze met the prince's. He rushed to my side, I ignored him. I was here for myself, not to marry. I was too young.  
  
Training alone does not ready you for court. I could solve complex logic problems and translate books. I could not hold conversation. Ladies are boring to speak to. So I hovered near the food, never eating, just observing those who came and those who danced.  
  
Observation was more important than anything. I needed to learn court behavior. One man was alone, staring at the crowd. Quite good looking too, blond and tall, fitting for my own tall body. Chin held high, I walked over to him. Flaring my skirt, I sat next to him.  
  
"I wonder why a lady like you would sit by me," he whispered. I shook my head, unless he had a grotesque defect or he was an idiot, I didn't mind him. "I am the scholar, my brother the hero, the heir to the throne." Why was he not danced with, then? The brother of the heir had much of the power and prestige of the prince. "Many of the ladies think me too young, my brother ten years my senior. I am only eighteen."  
  
"I am younger than you. I didn't want to go to the ball, I too am the scholar," I whispered back. Then he stood up and bowed to me, offering his hand to the next dance. I gladly accepted. A gavotte, a waltz, a promenade, always the prince's brother my partner. Out of breath, with sore feet, we sat down, both having to make formal introductions. In court, one does not know someone until they are formally introduced. As court dictates, the male introduces himself first.  
  
"I am pleased to meet you, Emlyn," I giggled.  
  
"And you, Ellette," he replied. "I want to show you something." He took my hand and took me out of the ballroom. We walked up many stairs, curving around and around. Finally, we reached the top and he opened the trap door. "I hope your dress isn't ruined going through the small door." I shook my head and followed him onto the tower. The highest tower, nothing stood between me and the stars. My throat choked up so I could only stare at the vast expanse. My finger traced constellations. I used to sit on the roof of my manor and map stars every night. My view was never as good as this. I sat on the edge of the battlement, ever staring at the sky. Emlyn pulled me to my feet and pointed to a reddish star. "Venus." He whispered into my ear. His warm breath touched my cheek; I didn't listen to his words, just his warmth. We were so close, our hands interlaced.  
  
"Listen, you can hear the orches-" I murmured before I was interrupted by his lips on mine. Once one is kissed, the two who kissed must marry. At that moment I didn't care though. I just kissed him back, like a butterfly. When we parted, his hand lingered on mine then pulled away sharply. I raised my hand to my face; a sapphire ring glittered on my ring finger.  
  
"Will you marry me?" he asked. I nodded and pointed to Pegasus, my favorite constellation. Always, I used to dream of flying between his feathery wings away from my father. My ring reflected Pegasus upon its glittery surface. 


End file.
